hope you are," said he, haughtily; "and it is my pride to
think I have inspired that impression on so brief an acquaintance."

"It is my own temper, too," she added. "You may convince, you cannot
coerce me."

"I wish I might try the former," said he, in a tone of much meaning.

"We agree in so many things, my Lord," said she, laughingly, "that there
is little occasion for your persuasive power. There, do you see that
smoke-wreath yonder? That's from the cottage where we're going."

"I wish I knew where we were going," said he, with a sigh of wonderful
tenderness.

"To Roseneath, my Lord. I told you the L'Estranges lived there."

"Yes; but it was not that I meant," added he, feelingly.

"And a pretty spot it is," continued she, purposely misunderstanding
him; "so sheltered and secluded. By the way, what do you think of the
curate's sister? She is very beautiful, isn't she?"

"Am I to say the truth?"

"Of course you are."

"I mean, may I speak as though we knew each other very well, and could
talk in confidence together?"

"That is what I mean."

"And wish?" added he.

"Well, and wish, if you will supply the word."

"If I am to be frank, then, I don't admire her."

"Not think her beautiful?"

"Yes; there is some beauty,--a good deal of beauty, if you like; but
somehow it is not allied with that brightness that seems to accentuate
beauty. She is tame and cold."

"I think men generally accuse her of coquetry."

"And there is coquetry, too; but of that character the French call
_minauderie_, the weapon of a very small enchantress, I assure you."

"You are, then, for the captivations that give no quarter?"
said she, smiling.

"It is a glory to be so vanquished," said he, heroically.

"My sister declared the other night, after Julia had sung that
barcarolle, that you were fatally smitten."

"And did you concur in the judgment?" asked he, tenderly.

"At first, perhaps I did; but when I came to know you a little better--"

"After our talk on the terrace?"

"And even before that. When Julia was singing for you,--clearly for
you, there was no disguise in the matter,--and I whispered you, 'What
courage you have!' you said, 'I have been so often under fire'--from
that instant I knew you."

"Knew me--how far?"

"Enough to know that it was not to such captivations you would
yield,--that you had seen a great deal of that sort of thing."

"Oh, have I not!"

"Perhaps not always unscathed," said she,